


Breathing hard

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Coming up for air [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, no sex but they're getting there, non-con groping by people with no manners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7738906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night of the charity costume ball. As is traditional, everyone loses their inhibitions, ever so slightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing hard

Athos did not like November.

This month would mark his seventh de Bourbon Foundation charity ball, which was seven too many for his liking. It wouldn’t be so bad providing security for the event—though it was a security _nightmare_ —if Madame had not decreed that the team and every other staffer appearing in public had to wear costumes too. He was alone in hating that aspect of it, however. Constance got to wear a different variation on a Disney princess dress each year—which, admittedly, she did very attractively. Anne never revealed in advance what she would wear, but last year she had come as Lara Croft and Louis’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.

The male members of the team had stuck to the same costumes for the last five years, after initial disasters. Aramis now, for reasons best known to himself, came as a priest—not even a robe-wearing old-time priest, just a boring modern black jacketed one with a dog collar. Porthos, for reasons best known to _him_ , decided to complement his lover’s outfit by turning up as a buccaneer. Athos wanted something leather, and had found a picture of [a costume](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/49187820904819502/) he thought not too showy and which gave him sufficient flexibility. Madame and Constance had taken rather a lot of photos of him the first time he’d worn it, but now the novelty had worn off, he could do his job without feeling too ridiculous.

Though he still felt _quite_ ridiculous.

This being d’Artagnan’s first year on charity ball duty, Madame had decreed she wanted something special for their newest member. Athos had expected something fresh and unusual with her imagination and Constance’s design skills from her previous career as a dressmaker. Aramis had suggested a costume from Spartacus—“leather briefs, a sword and bare chest, you know he’d look fantastic in that!”—but Athos had vetoed the idea, along with other variations on the theme on skimpy underwear and bare pectorals (because Aramis had a bit of a one track mind sometimes) on the grounds that (a) d’Artagnan was on duty and had to carry a gun, radio and other equipment besides a sword, (b) the press would have a field day, (c) Louis would have a field day, (d) Aramis would have a field day, and (e) Athos didn’t want any of the elderly guests to have a stroke. Of any kind.

Disappointingly, Constance reported that Madame had finally settled on Robin Hood. Athos, who had seen every version of this character in his years working the ball, from Errol Flynn to Russell Crowe, thought this showed an unusual lack of imagination on Madame’s part. Still, it would be modest and practical and Aramis-safe, so he had no objections. Anyway, he was far too busy to worry about what d’Artagnan would look like in the run up to the event. Thomas’s funeral had been just one of the claims on his time, and something he was still getting over as he discussed plans for the ball with Treville.

It would have been so much harder though without his team behind him. _All_ of his team this time. Though Anne hadn’t come to the funeral, she’d been there with him the night before and the night after, while the rest of them, including Treville, had turned up at the church not so much to pay respects to Thomas, but to show their regard for Athos, and sympathy for his parents. Constance had been by his side the whole time, d’Artagnan on the other side, silently offering strength. It had been unbearably touching and kinder than Athos deserved.

The ball was something of a relief to think about after all that. Three hundred guests, thirty wait staff, as many catering contractors, forty temporary security guards in addition to Athos’s team, the local police and city officials, all had to be placated or security checked or positioned without giving offence, allowing anyone harmful to get anywhere near King or Queen, causing a nuisance to the posh neighbours of the residence, or letting anyone get so drunk that they were injured or killed. Everyone needed to be fed too, and the provision and positioning of toilets alone required a full time planner.

Thankfully, on the day itself, Athos’s team would not be actually needed until the ball started, though Athos and Porthos at the very least planned to give Treville a hand if he wanted one. Their job at the ball itself would be to create an invisible _cordon sanitaire_ , keeping King and Queen away from the clutches of the overeager while appearing to be open to all, especially their friends. Richelieu—who would be resplendent in purple robes as he was every year, playing up to his code name—would work the other side of the room, and various senior members of the board would be on hand. Only those who were serious donors would meet the de Bourbons themselves, though they were the only people Athos’s team could be somewhat relaxed about.

He gave everyone a late start, knowing they’d be up until after midnight. Madame, now at the start of her third trimester, was taking it very slightly easier, but Constance would be at her side from nine am as she always was, and Milady would join her not long after. Louis would have been in his workshop overnight, most likely, his sleep patterns erratic at the best of times, and especially when he was mildly hypomanic as now. Treville would have been up with the larks, setting up the scanners and making sure the patrols were doing their job.

Athos had been unable to make himself sleep past eight o’clock since the funeral, and often woke at six, unable to get back to sleep. Not a problem when he needed to be up early, but a royal pain when he had such a long day ahead of him. This morning, he managed seven o’clock before he’d given up fighting his insomnia, and got up to drink coffee and read the news.

He texted Treville to tell him he was awake if needed. Treville messaged him back to say everything was under control for now.

Another text, from d’Artagnan. _Can see your light on. Want company?_

_Yeah, come over, have coffee_

D’Artagnan had been having trouble sleeping too. This wasn’t the first time he’d hoped someone was awake early enough to have breakfast with him.

A couple of minutes later, there came a knock at the door. Athos opened it and let a shivering d’Artagnan in. “Fuck, it’s cold,” d’Artagnan said, stamping his feet. Athos took his coat and hung it up.

“At least it’s not raining. Come and sit.”

Athos poured coffee for his visitor and set out a couple of croissants on a plate for him. That was as much effort as he was prepared to go to, but fortunately d’Artagnan never wanted any more. They drank coffee, ate croissants, and read their iPads in companionable silence, until caffeine had done its job of waking them up to the point where conversation didn’t hurt their brains.

“Costume all sorted out?” Athos asked. “More coffee?”

“Thanks. And yeah. I’m not changing it though. If I’m here for the next one, I’m wearing the same damn thing. Constance and her bloody pins.”

“If you’re here for the next one, I imagine Constance will wear you down and convince you to wear something new. She’s done it to Brujon three years running.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “I’m not so easily manipulated. Besides, she and Madame are pretty pleased with it.”

“Let me guess. Green tights?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” Athos had bet himself neither woman would pass up the opportunity to put d’Artagnan’s long legs into attire that revealed their shapeliness. “No tights at all?”

“Not a stitch. You’ll have to wait until this evening, Athos.”

“Very well.” It occurred to him that he didn’t know what Treville would be wearing. Something utilitarian, he suspected. “What are your plans for today?”

“Another simulator flight lesson at ten, back at one. Then I’ll hang out with you guys if you need me. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly. Treville will be delighted with the help by then. But you might want to catch some rest.”

“I’m fine. I understand if you old guys need the sleep though.”

Athos threw a cushion at d’Artagnan’s smirking face. “One day, little boy, one day.”

“So I hear. How are your parents?”

Athos grimaced as he remembered the last time he’d seen them. “Not doing so well. Mum wants to give up the house immediately, even though Louis has told them repeatedly it’s theirs and they don’t have to give him anything back. Dad and I are trying to convince her to wait until I return from Switzerland. I’m not looking forward to Christmas.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “Mum went through that after Dad, but my sisters talked her into staying. It’s too much to deal with, especially when you don’t have to. Now she’s glad she didn’t move, and that there’s enough space for us all to visit, even with the grandchildren.”

“Not that my mother will have to worry about that.” She wanted to have grandchildren, Athos knew, but only if her golden boy had had them. Athos, at nearly forty, and in disgrace over his marriage to ‘that slut’ as his mother referred to Anne when they weren’t in company, wasn’t expected or wanted to provide any.

“Shame they didn’t take up the invitation to come skiing.”

“It wasn’t likely even before. Now....” Athos was guiltily glad to have the chance to plead his job and escape after Christmas. He’d be on his own for a few days before the others all drifted back from their families, and that suited him fine. Louis and Anne would have him to the house for supper, most likely, which would be a lot more cheerful than at his parents. “Your mum wasn’t tempted?”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “Never skied in her life, and with me working she didn’t think it was right to impose. Maybe next year, if I’m still here.”

“You keep saying that, d’Artagnan. Is there something you want to tell me?”

If the lad was unhappy, Athos would have to accept responsibility for that, considering the way their working relationship had started. But he hadn’t noticed d’Artagnan moping or showing any other signs of misery.

“No, not at all. I’m enjoying it. Just with Madame’s baby and the fact nothing is forever, things could change, their needs might change and so on. I thought I’d be in the air force until I was forty, at the very least.”

“Ah. It’s unlikely the need for protection will decrease after Madame gives birth—rather the opposite in fact. Whether you’ll continue to enjoy the job is up to you, but the de Bourbons are incredibly loyal to their people. They expect the same of course. Even if you were badly injured, they would see you as their responsibility.” _Like Thomas_ , he didn’t say.

D’Artagnan didn’t need him to say it to get the point. “I’m not planning to leave. I suppose I didn’t want to assume. Sounds arrogant.”

“Oh dear. We can’t have you sounding _arrogant_ , can we.”

D’Artagnan gave him the finger, and Athos grinned. “More coffee?”

“Another croissant would be nice.”

Half an hour later d’Artagnan said, “I suppose I better get going,” and his obvious reluctance to leave was a little flattering. Or it could just be that the kid was tired and the idea of working in a simulator for a couple of hours was too much like hard work.

Athos kicked him out anyway, wishing him a good time, then texted Treville again. This time Treville was happy for him to come down and help. Athos let the others know where he’d be, and headed out to the back of the residence where an enormous marquee had been erected a week ago, and was now having the finishing touches put on the fairyland decoration. Treville asked Athos to take a golf cart to check the park perimeter yet again for potential breaches that they hadn’t accounted for, and to inspect the patrol staff. By the time he’d finished that, Porthos and Aramis had turned up and had been set to work as well. D’Artagnan messaged at twelve to say he was going straight to the house because Queen had an errand she wanted to run, so he and Anne would handle it.

They worked all day until at four thirty, Constance messaged them all. _Queen commands you to early supper at the house, main dining room, half an hour. Bring costumes, can change at house. Jean to come too_

Treville messaged back. _Too busy, please apologise_

 _No apology accepted. “Be there or be a rectangular thing,”_ she added in English.

“I knew I should never have introduced that woman to Terry Pratchett,” Treville muttered to Athos. “I thought it would improve her English, not make her vocabulary ridiculous.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Athos said, amused at the pair of them. “Come on, you have to eat some time, Jean.” They had snatched a sandwich and a bottle of water from the caterers at midday, but now he was starving. They wouldn't be able to eat on duty, which was why ever-thoughtful Queen was laying on this meal for them.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis swung by their cabins to collect their outfits—still no sign of d’Artagnan, sneaky sod, so his costume must still have been at the residence. Athos quickly showered and trimmed his beard as well. He sometimes wondered if he’d enjoy this more if he was to be a guest rather than working, but had decided no, he really didn’t care for this stuff from the other side.

“Cheer up, Athos,” Aramis said, catching up with him as he walked up to the house.

“I hate this event.”

“You do not. You’re just jealous you can’t wear an Elsa dress, like Constance did last year.”

“That was Cinderella, she told me, and I am not _jealous._ If you love it so much, why do you stick to that tedious priest’s outfit?”

“Ah, _chéri_ , that is my cunning plan to expose church hypocrisy.”

Athos looked at him in disbelief. “You mean, the randiest bastard I know dressing up as Father Aramis?”

“No, when I stand next to Richelieu and his mistress. The contrast is obvious.”

“You’re mental. And if he ever works out what you’re up to, you won’t be sacked, they’ll find you floating in the Seine.”

Aramis twirled his moustache. “Fortunately Richelieu is just not that subtle, so I’m safe.”

Athos wasn’t at all sure about that. But whatever worked, he supposed. When Athos considered the range of outrageous ideas Aramis might have had for a costume—and was willing to suggest to others—the priest’s outfit was a mercy.

They hung up their clothes in the bedroom allocated as their changing room, then came downstairs to the dining room. Madame looked lovely, all soft and glowing. She had had some problems with the pregnancy but her joy at becoming a mother overrode all other considerations. “So glad you came up, boys. I wanted you to have a decent meal before this evening.” She indicated the sideboard, burdened with food. “Serge made a special effort for us.”

He certainly had, and even Treville, who had protested he was too busy to stop, got stuck into the little egg tartlets and _crépinettes_ with gusto. Athos noticed Anne was eating sparingly. “My costume’s tight enough as it is,” she confided when she saw him looking at her sparse selection.

“Dare I ask?” Athos said.

“You can ask but I’m not telling you,” she said with a sly smile. “You can wait.”

“I’m sure you’ll be beautiful as usual.”

“Thank you. Just to warn you, Louis’s gone full Sun King for this one. He’s such a little boy some times.”

“‘Some’ times?”

“Point taken. Anne will look gorgeous though. Constance has outdone herself.”

“Any idea what d’Artagnan is wearing?” Athos kept the question casual, but she wasn’t fooled.

“Yes, I do. And you can wait for that as well.”

“You’re no fun.”

She smiled and moved away to talk to Treville. Constance came over. “Looking forward to it?” she asked Athos. “D’Artagnan’s excited.”

“He hasn’t done it before, so he doesn’t realise we’ll be _working_. And you’re not to distract him.”

“Yes, _Papa_. It’s still fun though. I love seeing what everyone’s come up with.”

“So you can steal their ideas and make better versions?”

She grinned happily. “Got it in one.”

“Where’s Pierre? With Jacques?”

“Yes, all this week.”

“Is he behaving over the custody arrangements?”

Athos and Treville had gone to see the lawyer once Constance had filed for custody and divorce, and made it clear to him that pissing off a good friend and employee of the de Bourbons would not be good for his practice, which handled some of their richest friends, and that denying a mother access to her son might not look too good when he had political aspirations. The man had folded like a sheet of wet paper, his bluster and malice no match for Constance’s protection.

“No, he’s being reasonable. This was my request. We have to cooperate, and he’s finally understood that. With a little help,” she added, winking at him.

“Always a pleasure,” Athos said, and meant it. He dusted his hands. “I think I may as well change now.”

She looked at her watch. “Heavens, yes. Guys, it’s dress up time! Back here by six.”

“If she blows a bloody whistle, I’m out of here,” Porthos muttered. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Athos had already put his costume on by the time Aramis came upstairs and went to the closet to pull out his clothes. “Where the hell...oh no.” He held up a suit bag and a post-it note. “The costume fairy has come to visit.”

“Good, I hated that thing you’ve been wearing,” Porthos said, fixing his fake scar carefully over his eye. “What have you got?”

“I have no idea.”

Unwrapped, the new garb turned out to be a rather swish leather frock coat in dark grey, long boots, and dark trousers. And a blue sash. “What the hell?” he asked, holding up the sash.

“Just put it on,” Athos said wearily. “It’ll be either Madame or Constance’s idea, and you don’t want to offend either.”

“But how do I wear it?”

“Give it here,” Porthos said, taking the thing and wrapping around Aramis’s waist. “There.”

“It looks weird.”

“No, it looks good. Athos?”

“Yes, it’s perfect,” Athos said without looking. “Get moving, and Aramis, you forgot your holster.”

“Bugger.” Aramis had to take the sash and coat off again, to put his holster on. “There.”

“Lovely,” Athos said. “Downstairs.” Not that he was in a hurry to see what d’Artagnan was wearing or anything.

Constance shrieked in delight when she saw them. “Oh, it worked! Aramis, do a twirl.”

“I will _not_ twirl,” he said, though he did turn around sedately. “What’s with the sash?”

“Oh, I just thought it looked pretty.” Porthos rolled his eyes. “Jean? You can come out now. You too, d’Artagnan.”

From the door on the other side of the room, d’Artagnan emerged in a [leather jacket and trousers](https://scifiandtvtalk.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/hood20.jpg)...very _tight_ leather trousers. With a quiver and hopefully fake arrows on his back.

“ _This_ was what all the fuss was about?” Porthos murmured.

The kid looked fucking perfect, Athos thought. The jacket was in three parts—a vest, with upper and lower arm bracers, worn over a simply white shirt. But it was the trousers that caught Athos’s eye. “Have you got your equipment?” he asked, to distract himself.

D’Artagnan quickly snapped his jacket open—the leather straps were for show as were those on Aramis’s costume, the real fixings were Velcro—revealing his holster. “Radio here, cuffs here. Good, yeah?”

“Fuck me, she’s gone and themed us,” Porthos said, grinning. Athos looked at him, then at Aramis in leather, d’Artagnan in leather, and himself...in leather. Constance had indeed themed them.

Athos cleared his throat. “Dare I ask what Milady is wearing?”

“Turn around, boyfriend,” Anne said from behind him.

She was in [a leather doublet](http://cowleatherjackets.com/image/cache/data/women-celebrity/Witcher-3-Wild-Hunt-Yennefer-Leather-Costume-Jacket.-888x1080.jpg) over...yes, leather trousers and leather boots with a blue trimmed white linen blouse and a dagger at her waist. She usually looked hot and lethal, but damn. “I’m going for the lesbian vote this year,” she said, grinning at Aramis’s astonished expression.

“You’ll have to fight off the men first,” Aramis said, sounding a little faint.

“Not sure I’d bother, eh, Charles?”

D’Artagnan flushed. “Hope not,” he said, which made Porthos cackle.

Constance clapped her hands. “Now you have to wait until Madame and I are ready. Won’t be long! Have some coffee.”

“Hang on, where’s the boss?” Porthos said.

“Er...here.” Treville stepped out from behind the door where d’Artagnan had emerged from. He did not look happy.

“Oh my God,” Athos said. “If that was purple instead of blue, you could be Prince.”

“[I look like a cake topper](http://hugospeer.tumblr.com/image/144660511333),” Treville said.

“No, you look amazing,” Aramis said, coming over to admire him. “Is there a blue theme going on that we need to know about?”

“National colour,” Athos said. “You look very smart, Jean. Constance has been a busy lady.”

For some reason, Treville turned bright red and turned away to fiddle with his outfit, and just then, a light went on in Athos’s brain.

_Ah._

_Oh._

_Good for them._

The others, standing by the coffee machine, hadn’t noticed. Damned if Athos would tell them what he’d worked out.

“Do you like it?”

 _D’Artagnan._ Athos turned. “It’s very nice. Not what I was expecting at all.”

“Me either. When Constance came up with this, I was so relieved I would have agreed to anything. It’s so comfortable.” He twisted and bent, giving Athos a perfect view of his perfect arse. “Shame it’s not our regular uniform.”

“I’m not sure the ladies of France are ready for that,” Athos said. _Or the men_. “Between the four of us, we might make a few ovaries explode.”

“I don’t need a costume to do that,” d’Artagnan said, cocky as usual.

“No, I’m sure _you_ don’t. What’s Constance wearing?”

“Nuh uh, I’ve been threatened with castration if I spill before she shows up.”

Athos exhaled in frustration. “And this is why I hate this event. Never mind.”

All this leather.... Even Anne was affected, standing closer to Aramis and looking at Porthos with open admiration. And when Aramis wasn’t staring at Anne, he was staring at d’Artagnan. Athos didn’t know where to look, quite honestly. Even Treville looked enticing, and Athos never wanted to have that thought again.

He was aware he worked with extremely good-looking people. He hadn’t realised until now that putting them all in the same room in _leather_ would be this dangerous to his sanity.

It was something of a relief when Constance emerged in [a long green gown](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/7b/83/13/7b831340cd7102907fd5c75a6f6ef7cb.jpg), her auburn hair loose around her shoulders, and a little quiver of arrows hung on her belt. “Ta da!”

Athos thought it was very flattering but he couldn’t work out which Disney princess she was supposed to be. “Merida,” Anne whispered. “From _Brave_?”

“Never heard of it,” he whispered back. “Not blue then?” he asked Constance.

“No, she wears green. Do you like it?”

“You look very handsome. Suits your hair. What do you think, Jean?”

His boss couldn’t take his eyes off Constance. “Uh...nice?”

Constance stood in front of Treville with her hands on her hips. “ _Nice_? That’s all you can say after all the work I put into your outfit?”

“You look magnificent,” Treville amended, before taking her hand and bowing to kiss it. “Very princessy.”

Constance blushed. “That’s more like it.”

“All those weapons, the arrows, knives and so on...are fake, right?” Athos asked.

“Of course.” Constance took her quiver off to show him. The ‘arrows’ were just the ends with the flights, sewn to the inside of the quiver. “D’Artagnan is the same.”

“And my knife is rubber,” Anne assured him. “Though I could still take you down with it,” she added sweetly.

“I’m sure.” She didn’t need a weapon at all, Athos knew perfectly well.

“We wanted swords, but Anne pointed out they weren’t very practical,” Constance said. “They’d have looked fantastic.”

Athos groaned. “Spare me.” The ball was always a nightmare from that point of view, no matter how insistent the invitations were about ‘ _no weapons, not even fake ones._ ’ Every year security had to deal with the outraged squeals that resulted from confiscated props that could do much worse than have someone’s eye out.

The main door opened and the de Bourbons walked in, Madame first, with a little tiara [in a blue and gold confection](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/38000000/queen-anne-of-france-queen-anne-the-musketeers-38039699-1200-1772.jpg), her hair curling down her neck. Quite involuntarily, Athos bowed as if she was a real queen, and the others copied him. Madame giggled. “Oh, don’t,” she said. “Do you like it?” she asked.

“You look majestic,” Athos said. Her baby bump added to the overall regal serenity, the very image of a happy mother to be.

Louis, behind her, was in [a leather and gold costume](http://cdn.entertainment-focus.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/TheMusketeers3x02-04.jpg) and an unfortunate wig that made him look like a spaniel. However, he probably realised no one would be looking at him with his wife beside him looking like _that_. “Darling, don’t you have something for them?”

“Oh, yes. Constance?” Constance came up with a jewelled and embroidered purse that completed Madame’s outfit. “Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d’Artagnan? Please?”

The four men approached. Athos went to one knee, which made her giggle again. “Your majesty?” he said gravely.

“My dear protectors, please wear my favour tonight, as a mark of my esteem.” She pulled out a scrap of blue silk and tied it to Athos’s arm, then did the same to the others. “Anne, Constance? I haven’t forgotten you either.”

The women came over, both somewhat confused. Madame had a surprise for them—two stunning blue and gold brooches in the shape of [fleur-de-lis](http://image.dhgate.com/albu_345384812_00/1.0x0.jpg). “Keeping this a secret from the two of you was a bit of a problem,” she said, grinning at Constance as she pinned her brooch to Constance’s dress.

“I had no idea,” Anne confessed, lifting the brooch to look at it more closely. “It’s gorgeous. Thank you.”

“Oh, and for Monsieur Treville?” Constance went into another room to fetch something, returning with a blue sash and jewelled star pinning it in a loop, which Madame put over Treville’s head.

Treville bowed with a flourish. “Your majesty.”

“Now, isn’t this great?” Louis said, clapping his hands in delight. “I want lots of photos, Anne. Athos, you make sure the photographers have access.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, your wish is my command, your majesty.” Louis grinned in delight.

Treville coughed. “Madame, monsieur, I really do have to go back to the preparations.”

“Of course. Thank you for indulging me, Jean,” Madame said, smiling at him.

“Any time, your majesty.” He bowed again, winking at Constance, then straightened up. “Gentlemen, Milady, we’ll be ready for your arrival.”

Athos went to check his watch, then cursed to himself. Damn thing was upstairs. He pulled out his phone. “Ten minutes?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

*************************

If d’Artagnan never saw another cameraphone again in his entire life, it would be too soon. He’d had literally _hundreds_ of photos of him taken that night, mostly by tiddly women—though quite a few men too—wanting selfies with him, and that was before King’s official event photographers and the invited press had had their chances. He wasn’t alone in being subjected to this—Porthos had been a particular favourite, and Anne posing with Aramis would be immortalised in any number of private photo collections and Facebook posts—but the women seemed to find his arse irresistible. He was sporting several bruises from drunken pinches and even a couple of slaps, though those guests doing that had been quickly moved away and spoken to by Athos. D’Artagnan didn’t see them again, thank God.

All in all, he now knew why Athos had been complaining about this for the last three weeks. The costumes were fun, and seeing Madame dressed as a real queen was a treat, but guarding her and Monsieur was still work, and the combination of costumes which could conceal just about anything, alcohol lowering inhibitions, and the overexcitable guests, made keeping guard much more difficult than any public event d’Artagnan had yet attended with their protectees. The others were old hands at this, but as midnight approached, even Aramis, who’d enjoyed himself the most, was looking frazzled.

“I need a drink,” d’Artagnan muttered to no one in particular.

“I’ll open a bottle when I get back to my place,” Athos said, coming up behind him. “At least it’s winding down. Queen wants to go very soon.”

“I’m amazed she’s kept going this long.”

“Duty,” Athos said. “She believes in giving back.”

“I hope she doesn’t wreck her health doing it.”

“She’ll be fine. Constance and Anne are keeping a close eye on her.”

D’Artagnan nodded. Athos moved off, thankfully. That had been the other difficult thing about tonight—stopping himself staring at Athos in leather. The colour alone was doing amazing things to his eyes, and those trousers were just too flattering. But it wasn’t just his appearance—when Athos was tired, his gorgeous voice became gravelly, and for the last hour, every time he’d spoken to d’Artagnan, d’Artagnan’s neck grew hot from the sound.

“You’re staring at him again,” Constance said, coming up to his side.

“Only so I don’t have to look at the boss staring at you.”

“Oh hush. I’m allowed,” she said, grinning. “Besides, you’ve had plenty of attention.”

“Yeah, right. How many men have pinched your butt tonight?”

“None, but only because Milady gets to them first. Speaking of which....” Anne was giving them the signal. “They’re moving, thank God.”

Gracefully as she had all night, Madame moved through the crowd with Monsieur at her side, Anne and Athos taking point, with Porthos and Aramis behind. d’Artagnan and Constance took up the rear, and their little group walked out of the marquee and up the covered path to the back of the residence.

“And that’s that,” Louis said, pulling off his horrible wig and tossing it into a corner. “Anne, I’m not wearing that again.”

“It was your idea, darling,” Anne said, petting his arm. “Constance, if you could give me a hand? Everyone, thank you. You were all splendid. Now enjoy your weekend off. We're going _nowhere_ , right, Louis?”

“Absolutely. Go on, shoo. Back to your beds.”

Athos led the team to the back entrance. “You can go back,” he told them, “but I’ll just give Treville a hand for a bit.”

“I’ll help,” d’Artagnan said.

“Do you need me?” Anne asked.

“No, it’s fine. You too, Aramis, Porthos. D’Artagnan and I can manage.”

Aramis nodded. “Thanks, Athos. Come on, Blackbeard.”

Porthos made a face. “Like I ain’t heard _that_ one tonight.” The two of them went off arm in arm.

“Aren’t they going to collect their clothes?” d’Artagnan asked.

“In the morning. There’s no hurry,” Anne said. “Goodnight, boys.” She kissed both of them on the cheek. “You looked pretty tonight.”

“Yes, we know,” d’Artagnan said. She smiled and walked back after Aramis and Porthos, towards her cabin. D’Artagnan turned to Athos. “After you, boss.”

Treville saw them come back into the marquee, and d’Artagnan had a feeling the frown on his face was down to a certain beautiful personal assistant not being with them. “What do you need, sir?” Athos said.

“We’re just nudging people out so if you could go to the exit, keep an eye on anyone who’s drunk and make sure they don’t start a fight, pass out or try to drive, that would be good. I’ll handle it in here.”

Athos nodded, and d’Artagnan followed him down to the rear where guests were making their way out towards the parking area and pick up point. A wobbly female voice called out, “Oooh, Robin Hood. I want a photo!”

D’Artagnan grimaced, but smiled before he turned around. “Of course.” _Two of them, great._ He let them sling their arms around him, take selfies, endured kisses on his cheek, and tried not to yelp as one of them pinched his arse.

“That’s enough, ladies.” Athos said, pushing between the handsy woman and d’Artagnan. “This way.” D’Artagnan got out from between them all and stepped back, rubbing his backside.

He was ambushed three more times before Athos returned to rescue him and usher the guests out. “You don’t have to be here,” Athos muttered as yet another couple wove their drunken way out of the marquee after hanging off d’Artagnan for photos by a third member of their party.

“I'm okay. My butt is already black and blue—what’s another bruise?” He looked around. “That’s the last, I think.”

Athos turned to him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, they were definitely the last ones—”

“I mean about your butt being bruised.”

“Yes. Been pinched there all night.” He rubbed it again. “Some of those women are bloody strong.”

“Charles, you don’t have to put up with that. In fact, Madame would be furious to know about it. You should have stopped them.”

“And cause a scene? Multiple scenes? She’d have loved that.”

Athos glared in the general direction of the residence. “Next year, I’m putting my foot down about these bloody costumes. My people are not toys.”

“It’s okay, Athos. I can handle it—”

Athos rounded on him, poking him gently in the chest. “You shouldn’t have to, is the point.”

D’Artagnan blinked innocently. “You’re so cute when you’re overprotective, daddy.”

Athos discreetly gave him the finger and moved off. D’Artagnan rubbed his arse again. _Ow._

Treville came out to find them. “Right, go home, d’Artagnan. Well done tonight.”

“Thank you, sir. Uh, Constance was just helping Madame out of her costume. She should be back at her cabin by now.”

“And why would I need to know that, d’Artagnan?”

“Keeping you apprised of all staff movements, sir,” d’Artagnan said with a straight face. Treville snorted and waved him away.

He saw Athos heading back towards the cabins. “Still going to open that bottle of wine?” d’Artagnan asked, catching up with him.

“Yes. Want to join me?”

“If I can sit on a cushion, yeah.”

“Just how sore are you, Charles?”

“Why? Are you going to kiss it better for me?”

Athos stopped and looked at him, his eyes glittering. “And if I did?”

 _Oh god, that voice._ “I, uh, might...like it?”

“You’re playing with fire.”

D’Artagnan tilted his chin. “Yeah. I know what I’m doing though.”

Athos stepped up to him, so close he was touching d’Artagnan’s chest. “Do you now.”

“Yeah.”

Athos’s eyes narrowed, then he turned and headed to his cabin. D’Artagnan followed, his stomach tight with...something. Lust? Fear? No, not fear. He wasn’t afraid of Athos, not any more.

Athos had left his door open. d’Artagnan entered, and was immediately shoved up against a wall with Athos’s hands on his shoulders. “God, you have been driving me nuts all night,” Athos growled.

“Yeah? So do something about it.” D’Artagnan grabbed the man’s head and kissed him, hard. Athos’s knee went between his legs and d’Artagnan parted them to give him more access. Athos kissed like he fought, with controlled violence, taking d’Artagnan’s mouth like he owned it and was trying to crawl inside.

D’Artagnan pushed back eventually. “Door,” he gasped. Athos left him long enough to slam it shut, then went back to snogging him up against the foyer wall, his hands all over d’Artagnan’s body, pulling open his jacket and running those long fingers all over his shirt, trying to find a way in. d’Artagnan pulled the front of his shirt out of his trousers, and Athos pushed his hands up underneath, making d’Artagnan shiver as they reached his skin and held him.

It was Athos who broke off, panting. “Christ.” He stepped back, looking as wrecked as d’Artagnan had ever seen him. “This is a horrible idea.”

“Yeah, we need to get out of these bloody things before we keep going.”

“No, we shouldn’t keep going.” Athos ran his hand through his hair. “You should really go, Charles.”

D’Artagnan straightened up. “No, I really shouldn’t. You promised me wine, Athos.”

Athos stared at him. “I nearly murdered you for real six months ago.”

“Yeah. Now I want to kiss you again.”

D’Artagnan reached for the guy, but Athos shook his head. “Stop. Charles...I’m your boss.”

“Not right now, you’re not.”

They stared at each other. D’Artagnan was not going to give in. He had moved past the beating, and he thought Athos had. “I’m not going to let what happened define our relationship. It’s over and done with.”

Athos held up his hands like he wanted to grab at d’Artagnan again, but he stepped back. “Let’s...just have a drink, okay?”

D’Artagnan wandered into the living room. Athos headed for the kitchen and returned with a bottle and two glasses. “ _Pinot noir_ okay?”

“Does it contain alcohol?”

Athos’s mouth twitched. “I think so.”

“Gimme.”

Athos poured him a glass. “Do you want a cold pack for your backside?”

“I thought you were going to kiss it better for me.” D’Artagnan drank a mouthful of wine, then moved closer to Athos and set the glass down. “I mean, if you want to look at my butt, I’m not going to stop you.”

Athos grabbed his head and kissed him, tasting the wine on d’Artagnan’s tongue. D’Artagnan moaned with pleasure, then groaned in annoyance when Athos pushed him back. “Mixed signals much, Athos?”

Athos ducked away from him. “I can’t. Treville will kill me.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For...for this.”

“Kissing a fellow employee? Do you remember what Aramis and Porthos are likely to be doing right now? And what about him and Constance?”

Athos picked up d’Artagnan’s glass and shoved it at him, then picked up his own, taking a big gulp from it. “This is a bad idea. You’re a lot younger than me.”

“He’s nearly twenty years older than her.”

“He didn’t beat her half to death!”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “Nope, not letting you get away with that. If anyone should be worried, it should be me, and I’m not. If I want to snog you, I will.”

“Not if I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, I can see how much you don’t want it, Athos. Come sit with me on the couch.”

“No.”

“Lie on the bed with me then.”

Athos’s eyes went wild and wide. “No!”

D’Artagnan held up a hand. “Calm down. You sound like I’m about to molest you.” He drank some more wine while he regarded his companion. “Are you sleeping with anyone? I mean, is this because of Anne or something?”

“No. Yes. No. I don’t know.”

D’Artagnan held out his glass. “I think I need more alcohol to understand that.”

Athos topped him up, then sat in the armchair, running his hand through his hair again. “It’s too soon.”

D’Artagnan sat on the sofa. “After Thomas?”

Athos nodded. “And after,” he made a ‘you and me’ gesture with his hand. “I’m sorry. I led you on tonight.”

“As Porthos would say, ‘bollocks’. If you don’t want to keep going, I’ll accept that but I wanted it as much as you did. More, maybe?”

Athos half-smiled. “Oh, I doubt that. That leather is doing things for me.”

“Tell me about it. Maybe I’ll suggest to Treville that leather trousers are standard issue from now on.”

Athos groaned. “Oh _God_ , don’t.”

D’Artagnan grinned at that. “Come and sit with me. You’re not scared, are you?”

“Of you? No. Of me, always.” But Athos rose and came over. “We are _not_ going to fuck.”

“No, we are not going to fuck. My arse is too sore.” Athos sat down beside him. D’Artagnan put an arm around him and hugged him. “Okay? Friends?”

“Yeah.” Athos kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Charles.”

“Not really. Are you saying, like, never, for us?”

Athos let d’Artagnan take his weight, leaning against him. “No,” he said quietly. “But I made a horrible mistake before, losing control of my emotions. This is...surprising. I need time to think.”

D’Artagnan kissed his hair. “That’s cool, Athos.” Five minutes ago, if anyone had told d’Artagnan he’d be content to sit with Athos, just holding him, he’d have called them a liar. But he was. D’Artagnan was tired, sore, and most importantly, not being kicked out. He could definitely live with that.

*************************

Athos felt his heart rate slowing, which was a good thing because he had come close to throwing up a few minutes before. A sensible person would ask d’Artagnan to leave now, and promise to talk to him later. But Athos was unable to make himself do it, either because he was tired or because the idea was so coldly repellent. So he let d’Artagnan hold him, young strong arms around him, smelling the leather and the sweat and d’Artagnan’s aftershave, letting the tension ease out of him. He’d held himself so tight these last few weeks.

“You should really put ice on your arse.”

“When I go back, I will.” D’Artagnan drank some more wine. “How do you handle it?”

“I make it clear that I’m only not breaking their wrist because I choose not to. If they complain, Treville speaks to them.”

“I’ll remember that next year. I’m also going to have Constance sew iron plates into my underpants.”

“With spikes on them.”

D’Artagnan chuckled. “That’d work.”

“You should really go home. It’s late, and if Aramis sees you walking out of here in the morning—”

“I’ll tell him I fell asleep while we were having a drink. You think _Aramis_ is in a position to be rude about other people’s arrangements?”

“Point.”

D’Artagnan drank the rest of his wine, then slid out from under Athos, who tried not to whine about the loss of his nice comfy pillow. D’Artagnan held out his hand. “Up you get. We’re sleeping on a bed, not this couch.”

“Charles, I thought we agreed.”

“We did, but I want to lie down with you. And put ice on my butt. So let’s get undressed, I’ll use your bathroom, and you find me the cold packs, okay?”

“Okay.”

Athos finished his glass of wine and put the cap back on the bottle. This was still a bad idea, but what the hell. So long as they didn’t have sex, he could put this in the ‘cuddles with friends’ basket, and he dared Aramis to make fun of him for _that_.

His resolution was shaken somewhat by finding d’Artagnan on his bed, naked except for a pair of white briefs. “Go on, shove it in,” d’Artagnan said, waggling his arse.

“You are a menace,” Athos said, before yanking the briefs down and slapping the cold pack on the worst of the admittedly nasty bruises. D’Artagnan yelped. “Serves you right.”

“Brute.”

“Be quiet or you can walk home.”

“Yes, Dad.”

And if that wasn’t a boner killer....

Athos stripped off in the bathroom, used the loo and cleaned his teeth. He kept his t-shirt and briefs on, before climbing into bed and pulling the covers cover them both. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah. God, my backside is sore.”

“Aramis probably has—”

D’Artagnan turned to look at him. “If you think I’m going to ask Aramis to look at my butt, you’re delusional.”

“I’ll ask him for something tomorrow. Say it’s for me, okay?”

D’Artagnan smiled. “Thanks.” He moved closer and kissed Athos. “Light?”

Athos turned off the light. D’Artagnan snuggled closer. “Charles.”

“Yes? I’m not doing anything.”

Athos sighed and put his arm over him. “Bad idea.”

“Don’t care. This is nice.”

“Yes, it is.” D’Artagnan kissed him again, and Athos gave into it. D’Artagnan tasted good, wine still on his tongue. He still smelled amazing.

“Athos? Promise me you’ll let the past go.”

Athos stroked his hair. It was so soft for a guy. “I’ll try. Give me time, Charles.”

“‘Kay. You look good in leather.” His voice was so drowsy, Athos gave it a whole minute before the kid would be asleep.

“You too.” He kissed d’Artagnan’s forehead. “Goodnight.”

D’Artagnan moved in a little bit more, so Athos held him a little tighter. _This’ll do for now._

**Author's Note:**

> This is so not the end of this series :)
> 
> Comments, criticisms, corrections and kudos welcome!


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